by Holt, Anne
Chuckling, she drew her hair behind her ear and tapped a third finger on the quilt cover.
“Thirdly, the address book proves there is some connection between the two. And the guard is …”
She stopped and straightened her back.
“The guard, in fact, has been the most promising line of enquiry all along. If he killed Birgitte Volter, we can forget the problem that has been causing the police so much grief: how could anyone sneak into a room that was as good as sealed shut? He was there. He had the gun.”
“But how would he have got hold of a revolver that actually belonged to Volter’s son?”
“Yes,” Hanne said. “You have a point there. I’m impressed! I’ve no idea. But in any case, the guard’s the best lead, and right now …”
She smiled as she looked at the time.
“… and right now Brage Håkonsen is sitting quaking in the courthouse while your brilliant husband … while Håkon persuades a judge that there are reasonable grounds for suspicion.”
“But there’s certainly more than that,” Karen said, removing the cloth from her forehead.
“Do you want me to wring it out again?”
“No, thanks, Hanne. Surely with all that evidence you’ll soon be moving toward a conviction? Especially if you get Brage Håkonsen remanded in custody now, and then have the opportunity to investigate further while he’s behind bars?”
“No,” Hanne responded. “We’re some distance away from a conviction. You should know that! Because—”
“Kaja might actually be right,” Karen said quietly. “She could be telling the truth.”
Hanne stretched toward the baby’s crib and picked up the protective rabbit. As she slowly stroked its ears, she nodded and stared into space, breathing in the combined scent of baby and strong detergent. “Precisely. Kaja may have told the truth.”
THURSDAY, APRIL 24
06.50, STOLMAKERGATA 15
“Hanne! You must wake up!”
Billy T. shook Hanne’s arm warily; she was lying diagonally across the bed, making the most of having the space to herself. Two quilts were bundled up underneath her hips and legs, and she was stretched out on her back with her hands above her head.
“Where have you been?” she muttered, turning onto her front. “Turn off the light, please.”
“We’ve had such a diabolical amount to clear up. Paperwork and all that shit.”
He pulled the quilts brutally away, and rapidly folded them into two enormous pillows that he placed against the headboard. He then put Hanne into a sitting position, to the accompaniment of soft, murmured objections.
“Coffee and breakfast,” he said with feigned good cheer, nodding toward the bedside table.
“And newspapers. Hell and damnation. They all cover Brage’s arrest.”
With a lingering yawn, Hanne gave herself a shake, then carefully kept her coffee cup level all the way to her mouth, scowling momentarily as she burned her upper lip.
The copy of Dagbladet was on top. The entire front page was emblazoned with a picture of Brage Håkonsen being moved from the courthouse to a police car. In the usual fashion, his jacket was pulled up over his head.
“Look at this,” Billy T. said, having crept up beside her. “That’s me!”
He slapped his hand on the photograph.
“My goodness, that guy Brage must be some size,” Hanne said. “He looks almost as tall as you and Severin!”
She flicked through to page four.
NEO-NAZIS MURDERED VOLTER
Right-wing extremist imprisoned for six weeks
By Steinar Grunde, Vebjørn Klaas and Sigrid Slette
Late yesterday afternoon, the Oslo police force were successful in their application to have a 22-year-old man remanded in custody, accused of involvement in the homicide of Prime Minister Volter. Chief of Police Hans Christian Mykland confirmed to Dagbladet that police consider the arrest of the 22-year-old, who has longstanding links to neo-Nazi groups, to be a breakthrough in the investigation of the murder of the late Prime Minister, Birgitte Volter. The chief suspect, however, is a man killed in an avalanche in Tromsdalen outside Tromsø on Saturday April 12.
“Nevertheless, it should be emphasized that there is still a great deal to investigate in this case, and that police are also following a number of other leads,” Police Chief Mykland insists.
Suspect Dead
At a press conference late yesterday evening, it emerged that, ever since the night of the murder, police have harbored suspicions about a 28-year-old man employed as a security guard in the government complex. This man was interviewed several times, but police did not consider that they had sufficient evidence for an arrest. The man died in an avalanche that took the lives of two men near Tromsø earlier this month. Police believe this man had a connection to the 22-year-old now remanded in custody. The latter is thought to be the leader of a neo-Nazi action group.
Assassination Plans
When searching the accused’s cabin in Nordmarka, the police found a cache of weapons, together with detailed plans to assassinate a number of prominent spokespeople on social issues. Police will not comment on the degree to which Birgitte Volter was mentioned in these plans, but from what this newspaper has learned, her name was at the top of a list of sixteen named people.
Conspiracy
The remanded 22-year-old is charged with a number of offenses, including illegal possession of weapons and plotting to “disrupt the established order”. Police deny that this has been done for tactical reasons. The court also agreed that there were reasonable grounds for suspecting the 22-year-old of involvement in the actual murder of Birgitte Volter. Although the accused has a solid alibi for the evening of the homicide itself, police believe he may be one of possibly several involved behind the scenes in the case.
“We have reason to suspect a conspiracy,” Hans Christian Mykland asserts, refusing to rule out a number of further arrests in the case.
“Poor boy,” Hanne said, scratching the bridge of her nose. “He’ll be banged up for a while. Regardless.”
“What do you mean by ‘regardless’?” Billy T. said crossly. “The guy’s as guilty as fuck!”
Without replying, Hanne leafed further through the paper.
PARLIAMENT PARALYZED
Extraordinary security measures implemented
By Kjellaug Steensnes
MPs from most political parties have expressed grief, sorrow and shock at the latest twist in the Volter case. “This was bound to happen. We have been warning against right-wing extremists for some considerable time, but the Security Service, as is well known, is more concerned with monitoring lawful political activity,” says Kaare Sverdrup, the Socialist Left Party spokesperson for Justice and the Police. He was fully supported by the Red Election Alliance’s parliamentary representative.
The parliamentary leaders of the Labor Party, Conservatives, Center Party, Liberals, and Christian Democrats have all expressed their satisfaction at the news that, within such a short space of time, the police seem to have come close to solving Birgitte Volter’s shocking murder.
The security measures surrounding our elected members have now been considerably reinforced. The administrative leadership in Parliament refuses to give details, and it will neither confirm nor deny whether such precautions were already in place when Birgitte Volter was killed. Nonetheless, Dagbladet has reason to believe that the Parliamentary President and Vice Presidents, as well as the more prominent MPs, are now guarded twenty-four hours a day, with some personnel provided by the police, and others hired in from a security services company.
Protection Refused
Frederik Ivanov of the Conservative Party has told Dagbladet that he personally has refused the extra protection.
“If we organize our lives around the anti-democratic elements in our society, then we have lost the battle against all forms of extremism,” he declares, adding that he has nevertheless found it necessary to send his wife and
family to a secret destination elsewhere in the country. Ivanov is best known as the Conservatives’ most vocal spokesman on the need for generosity toward new immigrants.
“For me, the tragic events of the past few weeks only underscore the eternal need to focus on humanity, philanthropy and tolerance,” he says.
Cooperation
Annema Brøttum of the Labor Party feels uncertain, insecure and sad. “Something valuable has been taken from us,” she said in a statement.
“Norway can no longer claim to be some kind of peripheral place of innocence; we are no longer a haven on the fringes of the world. This proves how important it is to seek cooperation across national borders; only by consistent commitment and openness between countries can such forms of politicized violence be fought.”
Satan
Cora Veldin (Christian Democrats) points out that right-wing extremists are the product of a society in decline. “As long as we politicians are unwilling to take moral standpoints, society will crumble,” she declares.
“The gospel of love has vanished, due to materialistic values that provide fertile soil for such Satanic deeds,” Veldin concludes.
Innocent
“As far as I am aware, judgment has not yet been passed in this case. The man is innocent until the opposite has been proven.”
Vidar Fangen Storli (Progress Party) refused to give any further comment.
“For once I agree with the Progress Party,” Hanne said, cramming the remainder of a slice of bread into her mouth. “Why do you always cut the slices so thick?”
“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Billy T. said fractiously, struggling to prevent the newspaper dipping into the jam.
“Have you noticed anything strange?” Hanne asked as she grabbed the copy of Kveldsavisen, as brim-full with material about Brage Håkonsen as all the other newspapers.
“Yes,” Billy T. said, sweeping the sheet with his hand. “You drop so many bloody crumbs! Soon I’ll have to use the vacuum cleaner on the bed.”
“Billy T., you either need to accept the consequences of breakfast in bed, or else stop serving it. Honestly!”
Hanne thumped him hard on the arm with her fist.
“Ow! Stop that! What did you ask me?”
“A few days ago, the newspapers were convinced there was a connection between the health scandal and Volter’s homicide. They hyped it up, obtained statements left, right and center, wrote editorials about confusion and all that sort of stuff. And then, hey presto!”
She tried to click her fingers, but had butter on her thumb, so they just slid toward each other with a little squish.
“An ever so tiny arrest, and they do a complete about-turn. Now they have … one, two, three, four, five …”
She riffled quickly through the pages.
“… nine pages! Taking it for granted that the guard and Brage Håkonsen committed the crime! Nine pages! The guy’s miles away from a conviction. Don’t they have memories?”
“Who?”
“Journalists, of course. Don’t they remember what they were writing a week ago?”
“Yes, but …”
Billy T. scratched his crotch vigorously, and seemed disgruntled.
“Are you siding with these journalists now?” Hanne asked, chuckling. “You’re damn well jumping about just as much as they are, anyway. Don’t scratch yourself there, for heaven’s sake. Go to the bathroom if you’ve got lice.”
She thumped him again, this time on the hand.
“Will you pack it in! Bloody hell, that hurt!” He rubbed the back of his hand, and moved farther over to the left. “Now I’m starting to feel really happy that you’re leaving soon.”
“You don’t mean that!”
She crawled over to him, and put his arm around her own shoulders.
“Actually I’m not really so keen to leave. This is where I feel at home. But I miss Cecilie so terribly, and she … I’m going on Saturday.”
He hugged her tightly.
“I know that. If we really are close to solving this case, then I’ll soon be able to come and visit,” he said.
“Great. Can you bring the children with you?”
Billy T. threw his head back, banging it against the wall, and laughed heartily.
“Very clever! I don’t think Cecilie would get much done if the house was filled with that gang of mine!”
Hanne turned to face him, enthusiastic.
“She’s at work all day! Think what fun it would be! Sunshine, summer and swimming in the sea … We can go to Disneyland!”
He shook his head.
“I can’t afford it.”
“Just bring Truls, then!”
He pushed her away.
“We’ll see. But as a matter of fact …”
He got to his feet and disappeared. Hanne could hear sounds from the kitchen; rattling followed by a whining, droning screech.
“Håkon’s having a goodbye party for you tomorrow,” he shouted above the racket from the hand-held vacuum cleaner.
“Cut that out,” Hanne said, rolling out of bed just in time. “Who’s going?”
“Håkon and you and me. And Tone-Marit, I think. If you don’t have any objections, I’ll invite Severin as well.”
“What?”
She reached for the vacuum cleaner. Billy T. stretched his hand above his head, and launched himself at the other side.
“Turn that off!”
“Okay, okay,” Billy T. said sulkily, pressing the button. “Is it okay if Severin and Tone-Marit come, then?”
Hanne drew herself up to her full height and shook her head gently. Then she began to scratch one foot against the other.
“You know that I don’t associate with police officers in my free time,” she said softly. “So why are you asking?”
Throwing the vacuum cleaner down on the mattress, Billy T. opened his arms in a gesture of resignation.
“But Cecilie isn’t even here, and anyway …”
He crept over to Hanne and tried to take her hand in his. She pulled back in a flash, beyond his reach, without even looking him in the eye.
“… how long are you planning to keep this up?” he murmured. “How long are you going to continue with this game of hide-and-seek?”
“I’m not hiding,” she spluttered. “But I’m quite entitled to choose my own friends.”
She slammed the bedroom door noisily behind her, and soon Billy T. could hear the whooshing sound of the shower; even the rushing water seemed angry. He padded after her and opened the bathroom door a crack.
“Is it okay for them to come?” he called out with his mouth against the gap. “Can Tone-Marit and Severin come to your party?”
His voice was as distorted as a little child’s, and he hunkered down.
“Please!”
Hearing a faint, reluctant burst of laughter, he closed the door and headed off to phone Håkon Sand.
23.45, MOTZFELDTS GATE 15
Little Lettvik was feeling awful. This was a new, unfamiliar experience. It was as if her whole body was agitated, consumed with an inexplicable anxiety. Something had clamped onto the upper part of her back, somewhere behind her shoulder blades, and was shooting arrows throughout her body, filling her with a pain that nothing could relieve. She had tried most things, God knows, but there were limits to what she could get hold of, given that she would not seek medical assistance. Alcohol did not help, and did not even make her intoxicated. As a last resort, she had tried to swim the pain away.
At least twenty years had elapsed since she had paid a visit to Tøyen swimming pool. The place had not changed very much. She had managed to swim two hundred meters before her heavy, out-of-condition body cried out for her to stop, but when she was slumped in the sauna, eyes closed and with a towel wrapped around her stomach, the pain returned.
Humiliation. That was what it was. The pain of being humiliated. They had looked at her, seen through her, and bit by bit revealed what they knew. Had they had cameras
watching the two of them? Some of what they had said suggested they were aware of exactly what the two of them had got up to, and in some detail. The mere thought caused the pain to escalate, and her face to blush a fiery red. Worst of all, however, was that they had known for ages. Perhaps for a number of years.
She had been naïve. Repeatedly naïve. Little Lettvik, exceptionally talented journalist, prize-winning and highly honored, with a special reputation for holding the powers that be to account. Despite all that, she had not realized that they knew.
Perhaps she had dropped her guard because it was all such a long time ago. Mostly. A few times in recent years, admittedly, and then again in March …
The pain was unbearable now, and her eyes welled up with tears. As Little Lettvik leaned forward, she fished out a short letter that had arrived that day, the handwriting elegantly cursive, and the stamp placed neatly in the top right-hand corner, with all the perforations intact. At first she could not think who the woman was. Elsa Haugen. Not until she had run her eyes over the sheet of paper a couple of times did it dawn on her. Little Marie’s mother. The woman in Elverum. Or was it Eidsvoll? The letter described her sorrow and pain, and a wound that had been ripped open. Sleepless nights and insulting behavior.
Little Lettvik sighed deeply and tore the letter to shreds.
Her own pain was enough to cope with.
FRIDAY, APRIL 25
21.35, HOLMENVEIEN 12
Øyvind Olve sat at the head of the enormous pine dining table, rocking a tiny infant. The baby was making inexplicable movements with its hands, and Øyvind stared in fascination at the minuscule fingers. As Karen Borg leaned over him to take hold of the bundle, he realized that he really did not want to let go.
“Beautiful girl.” He smiled broadly. “What’s her name to be?”
“We don’t know yet,” Karen answered. She addressed the room: “Everybody!”